"She did exist." Fan Qingshang was sitting on the throne, half raising his head, looking at the exquisitely carved roof of the palace, "But why can't I find her." He lowered his head and looked at his thin and pale palms, and said lowly to the historian sitting down: "Write it down. Empress Duanmo died in the 33rd year." He raised his hand as if to wrap his arms around something: "Father is gone, Shichuan is gone, Master is gone, and now Yan Ying has left me. How many people still remember you?" The lonely look made him look particularly old for being less than thirty.
Closing his eyes, Fan Qingshang whispered a few names, as if he was afraid of disturbing the long-dusted history, and then his eyes suddenly lit up: "By the way, there is also Qin Tianhui."